Bruce and His Job (The Other One)
by Blackgate Transfer
Summary: Bruce is Batman. But he's also a Wayne. With the name comes responsibility. And boredom. A collection of one-shots.
1. Boardrooms

This is my first story on here. Please do not be gentle. Feedback of all kinds is good. Let me know how I'm doing. This is a one-shot.

* * *

Bruce Wayne does not get bored easily.

But if you put him in the boardroom of Wayne Tower, he'll be out like a light.

Compared to being Batman, listening to a group of spoiled, arrogant, egotistical, cheating rich kids who never grew up should be easy. Hint: not.

Bruce has Lucius, so this shouldn't really be an issue. Logically, then, he doesn't have to attend a single meeting, right?

Wrong.

Enter William Earle. Earle threatens to force Bruce out of the company if he doesn't go. ("Bruce, you think they didn't notice that bored look on your face last week? You were like a young child who had been dragged there. Add to that any perceived recalcitrance and your attendance record, or lack thereof and...Well, let's just say that your father might be a bit disappointed if there are no Waynes involved in Wayne Enterprises.")

Scumbag. Deserves a mouthful of batarang.

Nevertheless, he can't provide much economic help (or support his nightly, ahem, "pursuits") outside of the company, so about once a month, twice if Earle yells, Bruce rolls out of bed, crawls to the closet, (painfully) pulls on one of his many tailored suits, and walks to Wayne Tower. Yes, walks. He wouldn't dare waste any gas for those greedy fat cats.

At some point, he finds his feet on the newly carpeted floor of the boardroom and his butt in a black, high-backed rolling chair whose leather alone costs five hundred dollars.

"Bruce, how nice to see you. It's been a while." Earle. Son of a gun.

"Likewise, William." Bruce tries not to grimace.

As it turned out, everyone had been waiting for Bruce and now the meeting began. The usual arguing, snide remarks, sneers, sarcasm, veiled insults, outright insults, and all other things that go on in a Gotham City boardroom. Bruce never wishes for the Joker to break out of Arkham.

Unless, of course, he's forced to sit in one of those asinine meetings.


	2. Company Picnics

Malcolm Wicker, one of the higher, higher-ups in Wayne Enterprises, could use a lesson or two in conflict resolution. Or, more importantly, setting up the proper environment for conflict resolution.

It is not news to anyone that Wayne Enterprises is full of unscrupulous, amoral degenerates with money. Surprise? No.

Bad for stocks? Absolutely.

Case in point: Executive A's wife had an affair with Executive B and now there are rumors of unrest (true,) fistfights (more like "hold-me-back-fights,") and toe-stepping (stomping, really.) Wayne Enterprise's stocks dropped hundred-something points for the fifth day and Wicker had decided he'd had enough. A public show of unity and harmony was necessary to return Wayne Enterprises to glory (or, at least, a Gothamite's version of it.)

"A picnic, Master Wayne? In the middle of January? Quite unusual."

"Unusual? Alfred, it's a rabid and insane attempt to take the skeletons out of the closet and burn them."

Perhaps "rabid" was too strong a word, but Bruce was ready to put on the batsuit and pay a visit to Malcolm Wicker. Bruce was never fond of hobnobbing with his fellow stockholders, but at least there was air conditioning. Now, Wicker wants him to attend an outdoor picnic. In Gotham City, New Jersey. In January.

Suffice it to say, Mr. Wayne is not happy. Bruce spent nearly a year training with the League of Shadows in the harsh cold of the Tibetan Himalayan range. Compared to that, Gotham City is Florida. But being with a horde of selfish reprobates adds misery to the already-unpleasant weather. Cold fingers, cold finger food, and cold shoulders.

Goody.

Are human beings not more likely to resolve their differences when in a state of comfort? Wicker decided to have the picnic in Gotham City because the local reporters are not willing to travel to the Bahamas or elsewhere just to get a photo of sleazy elites rubbing elbows and laughing at sleazy jokes. And yet, taking into consideration the time of year at which Wicker has chosen to hold this outing, the reporters are most likely only going to get photos of those same elites snapping at each other.

Gotham. Full of greed and cold finger sandwiches.


	3. Galas (of the Charitable Kind)

This chapter is taking some elements from other mediums in which Batman has dabbled and contains references to other superheroes and fictional cities. The social event, for instance, is inspired by the "Man of the Year" gala in Lego Batman 2: DC Superheroes. I think it will be easy to guess who Mustache is.

* * *

Bruce loves two things: the word "annual" and menus. Annual, of course, means "once a year." Menus serve many purposes. They tell you what the ridiculously overpaid European chef is serving. They help decide who's paying for dinner. They also provide a covering for somebody who is trying to hide grimaces, eye rolls, raspberries, and other facial contortions and tongue movements of which various Gotham City socialites would disapprove when at a prestigious annual event. Bruce would count himself among the potential finger-waggers were it not for his feeling justified in his mockery. The object of his mockery: Lex Luthor. One could consider them kindred spirits. Bruce and Lex have lots of money, use it to fund an extravagant lifestyle (along with charities and government contracts,) and live in cities with caped vigilantes. Granted, Lex is less than happy with his city's savior, whereas "Brucie" is much too drunk to pay attention to that "flying rodent dude" (fewer people will think he is Batman if he does not know that bats are not rodents.) Still, the similarities exist.

Yet, here we are, with Bruce hiding his face behind a menu, and Lex Luthor sitting across from him, giving their tablemates a truly Luthorian lecture about that menace Superman, who has somehow successfully managed to pull the proverbial wool over the eyes of the people of Metropolis.

Electrifying.

This unnecessarily pricey gala was brought to you the letter B (Billionaires for Benevolence) and the number one million (per plate.) Billionaires for Benevolence is a charity foundation founded by rich men who want to make a difference. Or, in the case of Lex Luthor, _look_ like they want to make a difference. These events are not all bad, though. Bruce likes to use his intelligence against his fellow gentry.

"Bruce?" said a mustached man from Star City.

"I'm sorry," he's not, actually, "were you saying something? The options on this menu look delicious." Bruce sounds like he should have been smiling, but he wasn't. He was sticking out his tongue.

"Oh, really? I haven't had a chance to look at it. Nonetheless, it'll never compare to Star's cuisine." Replied Mustache.

"Bruce, we were just having a discussion about sports. You do watch sports, don't you?" Luthor. Slick son-of-a-gun.

"Of course, I do. Didn't you see the picture I took with Carson Meredith, of the Gotham Wildcats? He's been playing football for a long time." Bruce had put down the menu now.  
"Yes, I did. I've been associating with some athletes, as well." Luthor was smirking. He owned a small part of the Metropolis Mammoths.

"I know. I heard you had dinner with one of the Mammoths players. He's Canadian, by the way. A lot of hockey players are." Bruce had been saving that one all night.

"Well, in any case, he's a nice young man." Luthor replied, his left eye twitching ever so slightly.

"Young man? Lex, you're starting to sound old. Starting to look it, too. Could use some botox." Bruce was having fun now.

"Ahem, we were talking about sports before, gentlemen." Said Mustache. As if Luthor could ever be considered gentle.

Over Lex's shoulder, Bruce saw Dick talking to reporter from a gossip rag. It was the first time in a while that Dick was seen with Bruce and the rag wanted to do one of those trashy "Where Are They Now?" pieces. Dick, by his own admission, agreed to do the interview because he was bored. Bored. He has his own crime-filled city to defend and he says he's bored.

"Bruce, what do you think about the Griffins' chances of beating the Meteors this year?"

"High."

"And the chances of the opposite?"  
"High. Both teams are good." Bruce said.

"Alright, enough about baseball, what about basketball? The Gotham Guardsmen aren't looking very good this season."

"Neither are the Metropolis Generals."

"Care to bet on that?"

"I come to a charity ball, and I find a couple of rich guys putting their money into sports rather than philanthropy." Said a voice from behind Bruce.

He turned around to find Vicki Vale, pen and pad in hand.

"The business writer called in sick tonight, so Mario thought it would be funny to put me in charge of tomorrow's financial report. I need three first quarter estimates and a statement from Mr. Queen about his new COO. Who wants to go first?" Vicki monotoned.

"One wonders how you get any interviews with such an ennui-heavy tone of voice, Ms. Vale." Luthor said.

"As soon as I get a dictionary, I'll decide whether or not I want to be insulted by that. About the profit estimates?" Vicki continued.

* * *

Three estimates and a statement later, the three men were freed from Vicki's grilling. As Lex had noticed earlier, Bruce wasn't listening to him pour out his feelings over Metropolis' big blue Boy Scout. Lex Luthor was not one to miss an opportunity to preach about the dangers of so-called superheroes.

"So, Bruce, what do you think of that Batman character? He seems like quite a menace."

"Eh, he's okay. Bit of a nut, if you ask me, but he's okay."

"Okay? You have a masked maniac running on rooftops, and serving his own form of vigilante extra-legal justice and he's _okay_? You're not nearly as concerned about Gotham City as you claim." Lex observed.

"Just because I don't lose any sleep over this 'masked maniac' to which you refer does not mean I care any less about Gotham City." Bruce asserted.

"You are making a grave mistake by not being more outspoken against this Bat character."

"W-What were you saying about that menu, Bruce? I feel peckish." Mustache stuttered, adding a nervous laugh.

"Here." Bruce absentmindedly tossed him the paper.

"And, come to think of it, you have more than one vigilante parading around Gotham, don't you? Isn't one of them a minor? I believe some charges of child endangerment could easily be brought. That would be a quick trial." Luthor stated.

"Child endangerment? Is someone talking about the time Bruce tried to cook when I was fifteen?" Said a smiling Dick, who, sensing the intensity of the conversation, had moved to the table seating the bickering billionaires.

"How nice to see you again, Richard. How old are you now?" Lex said, unclenching his fist underneath the table.

"Twenty-one. Speaking of legal ages, are you done with that champagne?"

Dick Grayson. Ever the one to lighten the mood.

* * *

The next hour contained more arguing, more drinking (on Mustache's part,) betting on sports teams, quick and unpleasant encounters with Vicki Vale, and the giving out of an award or two honoring the billionaires who had given the most to charitable organizations the previous year.

"Gee, Bruce, you coulda tried to go easy on Luthor." Dick remarked on the drive home.

"I could have. But I didn't want to." Bruce replied defiantly.

"I take that to mean you had fun this evening, Master Bruce?" Alfred said from the driver's seat.

"Eh, it was better than last year."  
"Sir, you did not attend last year."

"I didn't, did I? I would have, had I known it was that easy to annoy Lex Luthor."

"Of course, sir."

That night, Bruce dreamt of ways to get under Luthor's skin next year.

The devil.


	4. Mergers

Greed, men with green hair, and inconsiderate colleagues. All of these can be filed under the . Someone at Wayne Enterprises felt it quite necessary to make a merger of some kind with some other multi-billion dollar company. Which, Bruce was quite happy to learn, was Lexcorp.

This is not the usual sarcastic observation. Bruce actually got a call at four o'clock in the morning, a most inconvenient time (from an executive whose name he either didn't remember or didn't know,) telling him it was absolutely necessary to bring Lex Luthor to Gotham City for what would be "the merger of the century." His first question was why Lucius couldn't do it. Mr. No Name then proceeded to lecture Bruce about the twenty or so times in the past month that Bruce had come in contact, directly or indirectly, with the President and CEO of Lexcorp. His second question, since there was no getting out of it, was when he should make plans. One week, six phone calls, and a private jet flight later, Bruce was sitting in a boardroom not in Gotham, but in Metropolis. Lex, ever the slick businessman, arranged for one of his jets (because he needs more than one jet, obviously) to arrive in Gotham City before Bruce had even spoken to his secretary. (You may be wondering why Mr. Wayne would have to go through so many other people to speak with Lex Luthor. Surely, he could have gotten ahold of his personal phone number. He had. Simply put, Bruce never bothered to remember it, despite Lex's insistence on shoving the number in his face on many occasions.)

Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly cranky, Bruce cursed his being born into a family of mega-wealth. Being born into a wealthy family meant socializing with men who thought it was fashionable to be late to important meetings. Men like Lex Luthor. Luthor, though, did things like that because he was asserting his dominance, not because he was a lackadaisical airhead. When he finally did arrive, he skipped the usual lecture on how expensive his furniture was. Lex was naïve enough to think Bruce enjoyed his company, but not so naïve to think he enjoyed pointless chit-chat.

"It is a wonder to hear from you, Bruce, let alone see you." Lex said, already sliding into his customary smirk.

"Well, I've been very busy in Gotham City as of late, helping finalize construction deals for the repair of the eastern section of Arkham Asylum."

"Oh, yes, it was destroyed by that Joker fellow, wasn't it?" Lex's brow twitched slightly at the mention of the green-haired killer-comedian, but Bruce didn't notice.

"It was. The only reason the rest of the building is still standing is because of Batman."

"Bruce," Lex began with a heavily condescending and pitiful sigh, "you praise him too much. The more positive public sentiment he receives, the more arrogant he becomes. This has already happened in Metropolis. If the people had not been so foolish as to worship that _Demolisher-_"

"Lex, I didn't come here to discuss your issues with masked men in their underwear." Bruce said in a monotone voice, displaying his disinterest in Lex's tirade.

Lex, angered by both Bruce's interruption and that he had let his personal ramblings create the necessity for an interruption, hesitated for the briefest of seconds before speaking again.

"Indeed. You came here for business, correct?"

"Yes, I did. Over the years, I've debated the pro and cons of merging with Lexcorp. I figured I wouldn't know unless I took the chance."

"Oh, really?" Lex said, the look on his face, a raised eyebrow paired with the nonchalance that often comes before a shrug, indicated his doubt in the validity of Bruce's statement and willingness to overlook it.

The room was silent. The polite introductions were over and neither man knew what to say. Bruce hadn't gone to Metropolis because he wanted to. He could not have cared less about merging with Lexcorp. Lex, not wanting to ruin his chances, waited for Bruce to suggest something.

He waited a while. Then the phone rang.

"You wouldn't mind terribly if I answered this phone call?" Lex asked.

"No. We're not doing anything important right now." Bruce said, not the slightest hint of humor in his voice.

Lex answered the phone and walked to the window, mentally scowling.

A few minutes later, he hung up the phone, but didn't sit down, looking disappointed.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, but we will have to continue this another time. An employee of mine requires assistance with some new technology we're developing."

"Oh, that's too bad. We were having such a fun time."

"Perhaps we could schedule this ano-"

"Call my secretary." Bruce said, already walking towards the door, not looking back over his shoulder.

* * *

Back in Gotham City, Bruce was relieved to not on the way back to Wayne Manor.

"I didn't expect you home so earlier, Master Bruce." Alfred said.

"There was no logical reason for me to be there, Alfred." Bruce said, thinking of sleeping for a few hours before his nightly "rooftop run" as Vicki Vale had begun to refer to it.

"By the way, Master Bruce, Mr. Luthor called just before you arrived. He said he's free on Tuesday."

"I can't schedule a flight on such short notice."

"He's going to be sending the private jet again."


	5. Confused Priorities

Another day, another tedious afternoon on the top floor of Wayne Tower. Bruce Wayne, orphaned heir to the Wayne family fortune, would have been at home, underground, investigating a recent outbreak of a strange illness involving paling of the skin and uncontrollable laughter, but Lucius Fox, so luckily, happened to be a victim of this outbreak. So, here in Wayne Tower, lies the long ago bored-to-death brain of the poor Wayne boy. The other executives appear to be just as disinterested. The man sitting to Bruce's right is texting one of his ex-mistresses, discussing how much he'll pay her to keep quiet about their "whirlwind romance," as she would put it to the Gotham Gazette. To the left, the stereotypical seemingly-perfect-man-with-seemingly-perfect-life-with secret-drug-habit trying to hide his shakes, having not had his fix since this morning. Morrison, his name is. They're all shaking, in a way; Bruce is mentally shaking his head, lamenting the time he's wasting; Mr. Faithful is shaking his foot, seething about the amount of money he's going to have to pay. The Tremulous Trio. Catchy.

If this strain of the Joker's poison, as it almost certainly was a product of the Joker, had started out like the others, in the grimy streets of Gotham, Matches Malone needed to be roaming those very streets. He needed to be weeding out the impressionable young boy, or the unscrupulous part-time criminal who had done Joker's dirty work. He needed to get Lucius back into the boardroom.

He needed to not be sitting next to a drug addict who has obviously not bathed in weeks and a man who finds it so impossible to stay faithful.

Sometimes, Bruce wonders how they do it. How they have their cake and pie and cookies and eat them too. How his fellow executives have time to be businessmen (or at least pretend,) marry, have children, keep numerous mistresses, (none nearly as dignified as Madame De Pompadour,) have lovechildren, launder money, keep up their drug habit, be bribed by the various crime bosses, dive headfirst into alcoholism, and stay rich.

"Bruce? Bruce. Bruce!" A voice called, drawing Bruce out of his inner grumblings

"Hm?"

"We wanted to know what you think of reopening the Weapons Division. Lex Luthor recently acquired some government contracts and those pay big money." Mr. Faithful. That "non-disclosure payment" was really hitting him hard.

"No." Bruce said.

"But-" He was interrupted by the sectretary, Lisa, entering the room.

"Excuse me, sir?" She said.

"Yes, Lisa?" Faithful asked.

"A reporter is outside. Miss Vicki Vale." She replied.

"I don't have any scheduled interviews." He said, a feeling of worry coming over him.

"She said a reliable source has given her some information regarding an alleged affair."

He paled.

"Um, did she mention a name?" He said, desperately wanting to throw himself out the window.

"No, but she said it's a woman associated with a 'gentleman's club' downtown."

At that, he jumped out of his seat and dashed out of the room.

"Huh. Anything else on the agenda?" Bruce said, sad the show was over.

"Uh, no. The Weapons Division was the only subject we really wanted to talk about. That was quick, only took fifteen minutes." Said another man.

"What?" Bruce exclaimed, "But we've been here for two hours!"

"We were discussing other topics."

"Non-business topics." Morrison said, finally piping up.

"Such as?" Bruce said, already reaching for his discarded jacket.

"Uh, well, C-C-Carlson was talking about that new girl at the Iceberg Lounge." Morrison said. Carlson must have been Mr. Faithful. How typical.

"I see. Good day, gentlemen." Bruce said, barely resisting the urge to drench his remark in sarcasm.

"W-Wait, where are you g-g-going?" Morrison again. He hoped one of the other men had carried their painkillers. And maybe a pill-crusher...

"To visit Lucius." Bruce said, hand on the doorknob.

Visit Lucius, yes. And maybe go after a terribly unfunny clown.


End file.
